


now i'm changing my world

by thecreativewritingstudent



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: After the Bridge Scene, Eventual Romance, F/F, I Don't Even Know, I am not promising that this will be happy, Post-Season/Series 03, Slow Burn, Soft Eve Polastri, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, Villanelle is not a psycopath you guys. she is just messed up. Overly so, soft konstantin, they just miss each other, weird irina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25549684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecreativewritingstudent/pseuds/thecreativewritingstudent
Summary: Another post-bridge fic... (it's propably gonna get worse before it gets better...)
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 14
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

That face. That fucking face. It was beautiful, indeed. Villanelle surely was a humourous arsehole, but she was right. She was (oh) so very beautiful. 

She was facing Eve, having a small smirk on that marvelous face. They both knew that this night would not be the end for them. Surely, there was not an end, not for them. But whether Eve liked it or not, Villanelle was determined to end whatever this thing was. 

Eve had once told her, a few seconds before Villanelle had shot her (not that it matters), that she did not know what love was. But the blonde was now certain that if letting go the one person you are most afraid of hurting is not love, then what the hell is? The assassin knew, deep within her, that if she kept Eve by her side, they both would destroy each other. She did not know how. A shot in the head, maybe... She could strangle her and Eve would probably cut her throat while she slept. Or one of them would run away from the other, never to be seen again. They would most certainly consume each other, and not in a good away. 

She had to let her go. She loved her too much to act selfishly and keep her. 

It was love. And that strange, angering and overwhelming feeling was something Villanelle had not felt in many (many) years. 

She did not love Anna, though she came close enough to loving her. If she could remember properly, the last person she loved was her father. He was an unapprochable man, rough around the edges, strong-willed, hot-headed but also kind. He taught her how to stand up for herself, how to be unbendable. How to survive. 

She had. She _had_ to let her go. They were a lost cause. They would never be happy. And Villanelle knew that she would only be happy knowing that Eve was alive and safe. That's all she wanted anyway (at least after Rome).

The blonde saw that the MI6 officer was weeping, as was she, of course. And she also noticed that Eve had began to slowly walk towards her. Villanelle raised a hand to her, a silent plea to stop the brunette from coming any nearer. 

There were people passing by, some talking loudly on their mobiles, some laughing and some arguing with each other. There was only a small posibility that Eve would hear what she had to say to her. But still. She spoke, her voice, bearly a whisper. 

"What I said in Rome, I meant it. Maybe you were right. Maybe I didn't understand the feeling at the time. I surely do now". She turned her body slightly, as if to walk away, but she could not actually move. It was as if her feet were stuck on the pavement, or as if she had stepped in quicksand, sinking lower and lower into this unbearable abyss. "Goodbye, Eve". She still could not move, but she forced herself. She turned around, slower than she would have liked and began walking again. She heard Eve's quiet "Please, don't go!" but she continued to walk away until she had left the bridge a few miles behind her. Then she turned her head again.

She could not see Eve. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the 1st chapter wasn't supposed to be this short, but it got uploaded so...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my native language. Please be kind and comment the mistakes you find so that i can fix them!
> 
> Happy reading!

EVE

Port Sunlight was incredibly cold this time of year. The sky was cloudy (as fucking always, Eve thought) and the icy air made her bones shiver. She crossed the road, a recycled paper bag, with dry ramen in it, hanging from her hand. She headed towards her small flat in Beaconsfield Road, Port Sunlight, Merseyside. 

It was a small village, with no more than 2,000 population. It was a popular tourist attraction, but it was subtle enough. It was obvious... neither MI6 was looking for her, nor the Twelve. It had been two years and a half since she last worked for MI6 and two years since she had last seen Villanelle. Two years and a half since she had last had sex. 

It was sort of convenient to lay with men and women whenever she wanted here. She was not local. And, frankly, people did not seem to care that much for her existence. She was a stranger in a strange land. She had no bonds tying her to this beautiful place. Carolyn told her to disappear. And she did. She did not leave the country though. She did not want to. England was her home. She once had a husband here. She had made England her place. She had a house, a chicken. But that was a while ago. 

Still. She could not bring herself to leave England behind.

The road she was currently walking on was quiet. No people were walking behind her or in front of her and she could barely make out the sound of a small baby crying. But only barely. It was dead silent. It was sort of convenient. Living here.

The small lightless flat she was renting was filled with annoyingly popular crime novels and small plants that she could not even water. There was one, in particular, a small bonsai tree (she called it Malcolm) that just would not fricking die. She could not even remember when she had last watered it, but he stood proud, his small leaves staying annoyingly put on the branches. He was a fighter, that one. She often thought of Malcolm and how the two of them were alike. Not that she considered herself to be a tree, but she did feel like a fighter. 

It was narcissistic to believe that but she did, and it was the truth. She had been shot and almost hunted down by an international crime organisation. She was most certainly a fighter (although not the best one).

So staying at her shitty flat was certainly a luxury. 

Eve, when she finally reached her home, took out her keys and opened her door. She had a double-decker miniature bus on the key chain.

* * *

She plunged the thick pain brush in the 5L bucket of the magnolia paint, shook it above the bucket (spills of paint falling on the uncovered wooden floor). "Shit!" she uttered, tripping on the stool that she placed next to her, her body falling heavy on the floor, somehow on the bucket as well, the depressing colour falling entirely on the floor and on her clothes and hair. "Oh, for fuck's sake", she literally screamed. 

* * *

"So, lemme get this straight," a plump man with a thick scouse accent said, "you fell on the fricking bucket?"

Eve slightly frowned upon hearing the word bucket. The somehow songy accent sounded forced and unpleasant from this man's mouth. "I did, yes. But by accident", said Eve.

"Ha! Ok lass! 'Tis alright! But I am not entirely sure we can fix ya floor. We can try, sure, but you'll probs have to tell your landlord. Jus' in case". 

"Ok... Um, is tomorrow ok for you?" Eve asked, uncertainty filling her voice. Please say no, she thought. Her flat was a mess, dirty underwear laying everywhere, dead plans filling the space and unwashed dishes being nowhere near the sink. But probably they would only notice the (now dry) paint decorating the floor and parts of her thrifted yellowish sofa. 

The image was quite absurd, as Carolyn would say. In her extremely untidy flat, a piece of a sanitary pad was stuck under a broken kitchen chair ( that served as a reminder of last week's heavy period. It was high time she picked that thing from under the chair, wasn't it?)

"Sure! Will be there first thing in the morning!" For the love of God, that man is very very very loud. And, truthfully, annoyingly cheerful.

"Great!"

  
She had to tidy up. She did. But watching strictly come dancing seemed more important. She laid on her bed, a bottle of cheap red wine in her left hand (she could not even bother using a glass, not that she had a clean one to use) and a badly lit cigarette on her left. Eve was not even allowed to smoke in the apartment. Timothy, the landlord, had a smoke detector installed. But the flat was old and the cigarette smoke way too thin to be detected by the machine. Everything seemed to be working to her advantage. 

She had to tidy up. She just did not want to. Unfortunately for her, the pad under the chair would haunt her dreams and she knew that. 

She had to tidy up the place.

Only, she did not. Eve just had the courtesy to pick up the pad from its place on the floor. The man she hired had not set an exact hour he would be at Eve's flat, so she woke up at six o'clock sharp, only to settle upon the unsticking that pad. Miserable. Miserable indeed. She thought of that time after Rome. Of how depressed and utterly sad she was. Her scar itched at the thought. She also used to think of Villanelle's scar. Of how they marked each other in that twisted way. It was fucked up, to say the least. But now she thought of it fondly, not that she let herself think of Villanelle, oh no, she did not, under no circumstances let herself think of the assassin. But she had to be true to herself. She could not stop thinking about her. Her mind was filled with those images; Villanelle's smile, cockiness, mischief, her inability to be true to anyone other than herself. But then, just as the doorbell rang, when her scar was itching, she finally understood that Villanelle might have actually loved her. Truly and unconditionally. She fucking let her go. Who would do that? Who would let go of their loved one? Eve was aware that they would probably destroy each other. But it was worth the shot, wasn't it? But that was years ago... and Eve just could not bring herself fall out of love with her. Because she knew, that she truly loved her, probably more than she ever loved Niko. She bloody did. She still loved her.

She shook her head a bit and opened the door.

The man stood there, his hands full of equipment. She could faintly detect honey-blond hair, from behind him. 

"Hellooo!" the man said. 

That hair, Eve though, she knew that colour. The woman's back was turned to her as the chubby man entered her apartment. "Come on Billie!" he yelled. 

Oh, my god. Oh my god, indeed.

Villanelle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment me your thoughts! help a lass write some more!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHAT ANOTHER CHAPTER?! 
> 
> The Spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Sj1r42HGaLx205DX4ipmk?si=zcRLY7-pQAKN0FFuKlLyJw

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first Language>>>>>> HAPPY READING!!!!

_She shook her head a bit and opened the door._

_The man stood there, his hands full of equipment. She could faintly detect honey-blond hair, from behind him._

_"Hellooo!" the man said._

_That hair, Eve though, she knew that colour. The woman's back was turned to her as the chubby man entered her apartment. "Come on Billie!" he yelled._

_Oh, my god. Oh my god, indeed._

_Villanelle._

* * *

Only it was not Villanelle.

She wanted her to be. The alias was the same, the colour of her hair looked like Villanelle's colour, she had Villanelle's height and probably weight but she was not Villanelle. The girl, Billie (to hell with that name, Eve thought) had bright blue eyes, not hazel ones, it was the first thing the former MI6 agent noticed when she turned around. Her nose was slightly different, curvier and a bit bigger. Her eyebrows thinner and her breasts smaller, significantly so. She was almost flat-chested, maybe an A-cup. The girl could easily be the assassin's sister or cousin. If I close one of my eyes, Eve thought, I could probably pretend that Billie is indeed Villanelle. A small part of her did not want to pretend. But she had to. It could serve as a form of closure. Maybe.

"Come on in", said Eve, more cheerfully than she ever thought possible. The man entered the flat first and the girl followed. She was slightly older than the original blonde, bit more butch as well. 

"Hello there!" her voice was less husky than Villanelle's, although, Eve suspected, that if Villanelle's natural accent was British, probably her voice would be high-pitched too.

"So", the brunette moved aside, to the small living room area, slyly picking up the underwear that rested around and shoving them into the pockets of her trousers, "you can probably see where the problem rest!" she smiled. Only at the girl.

"I see. We can scrub the floor," the agent threw an angered look at him, "gently," he continued after a beat, "and then apply some polish. It might leave some scaring behind though". He shoved his hands in his jeans' pockets and Eve felt pain, a feeling like a lightning went through her. She visibly flinched. 

The girl looked at her, her face full of concern. Eve noticed that. "Sure! Go ahead and do that. I'll be in the kitchen and work a bit if you need me".

Eve, after she disappeared and found a haven at Port Sunlight, started working as a freelance Korean teacher. It was not much (it really was not) but it paid the bills and her wine. That was all it mattered. She sat down at her kitchen table, opened her laptop, logged in on Spotify and put on a playlist - The finest Classical Music -. She was not a fan of the genre but she always thought Villanelle would enjoy that kind of tunes (well Hannibal Lecter, the one performed by Anthony Hopkins, was known for enjoying classical music, so Villanelle with her wit and sophistication would like it as well, probably). Plus it was good for concentration.

Grading essays and putting gold stars on papers written by 30-something-year-old interns and failed diplomats was not Eve Plolastri's piece of cake or cup of tea. 

The ideas provided in the papers were poorly developed. The arguments only barely touched. It was exhausting. What was the point? These guys did not care about learning the language. They only wanted the degree to get ahead in life. And to get the degree, they had to study or at least pay attention to what Eve was teaching them during their lessons. She took her cigarette packet out of her pocket, underwear falling on the kitchen floor. She loudly cursed. She leaned to the floor to pick up the knickers, only to fall ungracefully from the chair.

Billie came rushing to her aid. Eve was laying on the ground, surrounded by panties and broken cigarettes. The girl laughter loudly, before exclaiming "First you fell on the bucket, paint scattering all over the floor and on your, frankly, awful couch and now this? Jesus".

"Oh shut up, you asshole!" Eve laughed as well, hands hugging her tummy. 

The girl had this look on her face, oh boy, she really looked like Villanelle. 

"Hey, um, I know that I don't know you and that you're probably straight. But, um, would you possibly like to go on a date with me?"

 _No. No. No!_ "Yeah, sure!"

"Ok, say Friday night, at, um, eight?" the girl was fidgeting with her hands as she said that.  
  
"Yes alright."  
  
"Okay! I'll pick you up then!" _Fuck_! What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

Her formerly painted floor now had scrubbing scars, just as the worker she had hired had predicted. She covered them up with an old ugly carpet with polka dots. Villanelle would freak out if she ever saw this.

She sat down on her couch, a bottle of wine in hand, last night's bottle thankfully, alcoholism was not an option. She could not deal with more shit in her life, that much was obvious. She turned on the discovery channel, there was a documentary about Emperor penguins she wanted to watch. Magnificent creatures. Most of the emperor penguins mate for life, whereas Eve, in her 40-something-years had already been divorced once and was, frankly, in love with an infamous assassin she could never, not in a million years, ever have. Fascinating creature the emperor penguin.

Eve observed the whole mating ritual that was revealed before her very eyes. The whole spectacle was overwhelmingly magical. The love that was displayed between these creatures was incredible and, admittedly, hard to find. 

She could not really wrap her mind around it but she needed that. She needed to be loved and love someone that much. She unconsciously, once again, started thinking about Villanelle and all the things they would do together had she not turned around. They would probably be watching that documentary together and somewhere during it she would probably start kissing the brunette's neck, leaving wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, slowly and sensually sucking on her pulse point, marking her. Villanelle's hand would descend from the agent's hair and grope at her breast, her thumb and index slightly pinching the still clothed nipple. She would then kiss Eve, fully on the lips, tongue and everything, teeth clattering and hands pulling at each other's clothes. They would both want to take it slow (not always but Eve imagined that they would both be kind of tired and lazy to really fuck), but she would end up eating Villanelle out there on that ugly couch instead of their warm bed. She would go slow at first, just the tip of her tongue mapping out the blonde's labia, kisses dropped everywhere but Villanelle's clitoris. Hands would be caressing the assassin's tits, gently but also passionately. 

The blonde would almost certainly have her hands in Eve's hair, pulling at them gently. The agent was quite sure that Villanelle would be very careful with her hair. She was quite captivated with her curls after all. 

She would quietly moan out her name. Eve did not think Villanelle as a screamer during sex. She did not rule out of course the possibility of doing so during the act, but she thought it would serve as a weapon to manipulate the partner into something. There would be no need to do that with Eve, for she was sure she would throw herself at Villanelle's feet and obey to her every whim and wish and desire.

Eve plunged her hand into her sweatpants and past her knickers, her fingers quickly finding her clit, mimicking the movements she would use on Villanelle. Up and down and around in circular strokes and up again, her middle finger toying with the idea of entering her.

She did not know whether the Russian would like penetration. She probably would not mind it but it also would not drive her crazy. She could not help but want to strap her and be strapped by her in return. 

Her rhythm became more frantic, slightly slipping from her target; her clit. She moved further, pushing three fingers inside, the back of her palm moving along with the curving of her fingers. She moved wildly, imagining Villanelle coming apart in a silent scream, her mouth open and shaped in an "O", her fingers scratching the back of her neck, digging into the skin, almost drawing blood. 

She climaxed hard, her head hitting the wall, the wine falling down on the polka dot carpet. 

God! She had to be more careful, less clumsy. But then it hit her. Did she just have an orgasm while watching the FUCKING Discovery Channel?!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my native language. Don't tell that to my boss in London though... she's flirting with me:)

VILLANELLE

"Pick up your phone, you sick arsehole!" said Villanelle as she carelessly crossed Guildable St, a small Fiat Punto almost running her over. She was heading to this nice coffee shop called Caffe Nero. She used to go and hang around there when she was in Nicosia, Cyprus. On her first day on the island, she killed a military man from the de-facto state called Onur Yilmaz. He was strangely trying to force a coup d'état in both the de-facto and the independent side of the isle, at the same time. His goal was to unite the states under his governorship. Neither England, nor Greece, nor Turkey and the European Union would have power and influence upon the island after his taking the reign. The island would not even be called Cyprus, but the Isle of Yilmaz. Such a hilarious man. Truly, an extraordinary mind. Likely a psychopath, not a very wise one, nor a clever one, but kudos on the imagination.

Villanelle thought that the new name for the island was a bit much but at least he was not planning on making his own language and forcing it on the people. Although him trying to do that before someone else killed him, would certainly be very fun to watch.

Her victim was dancing the night away at an infamous club, hookers and crack addicts wandering around the dancefloor. She lured him into a toilet stool, not that he needed to be lured. If Villanelle were not a trained assassin she would reasonably be in danger. She could see darkness in his eyes. He was like a wild predator, maybe a lion, desperately looking to find a prey and strip it naked of its flesh and devour it. Fortunately for him (or so he thought, really), a naive, charming, sexy and shy girl walked straight into his lion's den.

Villanelle thought of drowning him in the loo water, but she had to admit, that would be very, very difficult to do so. There was not enough water there to drown a person, especially one his size, but even if she could, his fricking head was so big it would be hard to manoeuvre it into the toilet and hold it there until he was unquestionably dead. Plus, he was not intoxicated enough to be unable to put up resistance. He was going to be a feisty one and she knew it. 

In the best dominatrix (Russian-lacking) voice she could use, she ordered him to take off his shoes. Poor man; her obeyed like the good boy he was. He turned his back to her, placed his right foot upon the toilet and bent over to unlace his shoe. The assassin took her chance. With one swift motion, she grabbed him by the neck, crushed his skull onto the wall tiles and watched the life drain from his black eyes. She moved his body a little, applied some red lipstick on his lips and put his head into the water. He was still standing.

By the time she left the club, it was almost dawn. She took a taxi to the border, walked to the independent side using her fake passport and hailed a taxi to go to her hotel. As simple as that. At first, she was quite fearful, or at least as fearful as Villanelle can possibly get, about the passport and the Turkish side of the island. It was commonly known that the Turks paid attention to passports and identification papers. But surprisingly (very surprisingly) she encountered no problems. Must have been the blonde hair and the charm actually. Saved by the bell.

So just three hours after her kill she was sitting at a Caffe Nero, "Introduction to Criminal Law" in hand, sipping an incredibly and deliciously warm caramel latte, eating an apple cinnamon muffin, crumbs on the side of her lips. She was getting weird looks from other people sitting near her but she was also getting flirting vibes from passers-by. Weirdly, she felt almost happy there.

So now, after almost four years, she found a Caffe Nero, and she really wanted to feel happy. She just left Eve behind her, her infatuation was standing a few feet away from her, a possibility for a shared future at their feet. She let her go. 

Where the FUCK was Konstantin?

She sat down at a table near the entrance, her phone still in hand - pressed tightly to her ear. After the fifth missed call, her former handler finally picked up the phone.

"What?" Konstantin whisper-screamed at his end of the phone. "What do you want now?"

"I want to come with you!"

"You said we are not family, remember?"

"Yeah!" Villanelle was starting to tear up. "Please come here, please," she pleaded her. To Konstantin's surprise, she sounded genuine. Her sadness and desperation sounded genuine. He was dumbfounded. 

"I do not know where you are, Oksana," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"Don't call me that." Normally she would have screamed it at him. She could not. Not in a million years.

"I don't know where you are, Villanelle."

"Caffe Nero. The one near the bridge."

"Shit," said Konstantin. "Shit."

* * *

"What is it, sausage?" Konstantin said. He was standing behind a blonde woman, hair in a bun. She was looking the other way, only until she was not.

"What?" she said. Oh shit. He called a stranger sausage. It is not funny, it is not comforting (it would have been if she were Villanelle but she is not Villanelle. Villanelle is the lady near the entrance, with tears running down her cheeks, hands hugging her tummy, laughing like crazy. But the thing is; her smile, her laugh does not reach her eyes. God. Is Villanelle sad? The blonde assassin out of all people?)

"Hey, arsehole! I'm talking to you, sausage!"

"Oh fuck off!" said Konstantin, walking towards Villanelle. 

"Sausage? Really, darling?" she was still laughing.

"What's wrong, sausage?" he asked. He did not sit down. No. He kneeled down, his right hand lightly touching his breast as if he was trying to touch his heart. He was a sick man after all. Heart attacks are not for the faint-hearted. "What is it?" and she started crying again.

"I want to come with you to Cuba".

"Why?"

"She did not want to."

"She did not want to what?" He was getting a bit impatient with her but it was obvious that she needed time. Time for what he did not know. But she needed time.

"She did not want to feel the darkness. Hers. Not mine. But apparently, my monster encourages hers. And she did not want that".

Konstantin sit up and fell on the lounge chair next to hers. He crossed his hands and whined about not being able to smoke in public indoor spaces in Europe, his eyes never leaving Villanelle, who was staring at her shoes.

"You love her, don't you?" He asked, his blue eyes sincere and caring. Just like a father would look at his child when they were heartbroken.

"I think I do. I am not sure. I am in pain, knowing I'll never see her again. And while we were dancing and while we were talking, and even while we were at this Twelve's thing's house, I thought my chest was going to explode with both joy and sadness. I wanted to cry and yell but also laugh. Do you think there's something wrong with me?" 

"Why would there be?"

"I think I am feeling things."

"So you let her go?"

"I did".

"Come here, sausage," he said, opening his arms, whilst standing up, waiting for her to go in for a hug. She was hesitant at first but his eyes were empathetic, sympathetic, kind even. She wanted to be comforted and not only for one thing. She wanted to be comforted for losing the first (and for many years the only) person she had ever loved, for killing her mother and her hideous family, and for letting her get to her and destroy the possibility of a real and normal life, for doing the same thing to Bor'ka, and letting go Eve, the woman she loved.

She moved in for the hug. She lowered her head on his shoulder and continued crying.

"So this is what love feels like," she said grimacing, snot coming out of her nose. "I don't like it." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment you guys and gays<3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my native language. Having a Yorkie father does not count<3
> 
> Another Villanelle chapter. She's just so hard to write. she's a real challenge. Villanelle marry me plz

VILLANELLE

Hot. So hot. For the love of sex, she had never been so hot in her 27 years. 

The Cuban air was so warm, her skin was about to fall off and she was sweating profoundly. She did have to wax all the time. The fact that she was Russian did help with the hair growth but her natural brunette colour did not. In London, the waxing and shaving process was less frequent. Damn you humidity! 

"Villanelle! Come here you asshole," screamed Irina in broken English. "For fuck's sake! Get your ass here!"

Villanelle took off her Airpods, wiped her hands on her denim jumpsuit and her feet on the welcome mat outside the house. She entered the house in a familiar rage. God, how can you hate someone you care about so much?

"What is it you piece of shit?" she asked her voice full of malice yet her eyes were caring.

"Dad left me a packet you," the redhead said, pointing at the torn box next to her. There were small holes on it, air holes were them? Did he shove Eve in a box and shipped her to Cuba? She knelt down next to the box and opened it. 

A puppy? What the hell? A small King Charles puppy. So small it could almost fit in her palms if she were to pick it up. She stood there dumbfounded, staring at Irina and then at the puppy and again at Irina.

"What is this? A dog?"

"Don't look at me. It was not my idea. He thought it would help with your situation," she stared at her, her eyes cold and uncaring.

"What situation?" She crossed her arms in front of her defensively, her lips a straight, unbending line.

"With your sadness. It's been almost two years. It's weird, don't you think? Lemme guess; you'll name it Eve, won't you?"

"Fuck off," she almost screamed at the girl. She picked up the box. To her utter disappointment, the dog was a boy.

* * *

She entered her semi-secluded room and closed the door behind her with a loud bang. She left the box on her queen-sized bed. How many times had she thought of fucking Eve at that bed? Probably every night since she had set foot at that God-forsaken place. Cuba was a nice place. The house that they lived in... not so much. She laid down on the Farquharson bedding (she thought that Eve would have liked quilts and tartans) and took the small animal out of the box. 

There was a time, before Eve, that she cringed at the mere thought of having a pet. It did not seem weird to her that there were people that disliked or hurt animals. Animals can be annoying and loud. They crave the human touch way too much. But Villanelle craved human touch too much as well. She craved sex and the feeling of being desired. She liked that people (men women and teenagers) would stare at her, their eyes filled with lust. She liked being liked, even if she did not give a bloody damn about them. But now maternal instincts were filling her (once) cold heart. He was cute. His little face could even be described as adorable. 

"Imma call you Charles, alright?" she took the little dog in her hands, the thumb stroking his little head and ears. He was cute. Overly so.

She let him down on the bed. God. He was hairy. She'd have to pick up hair all day. 

Oh well. So be it.

She left to go to the kitchen. She picked up two small plastic bowls, a can of tinned meat, a bottle of water and a bar of chocolate (that was for her, not for the dog).

She could barely hold all the things. 

Irina, now sitting comfortably laid out on the worn leather couch, smiled and then laughed at Villanelle.

"What are you laughing at, arsehole?" she asked, the items almost falling from her hands and arms. The incident making the kid laugh even harder. The ex-assassin could not help but giggle (almost like a shy and naive schoolgirl, even though she really hated but actually liked the redhead) with Irina and the last could not stop the slight (extremely slight) care forming in her heart. She knew that the blonde was certainly not happy but that gift would surely come close enough to make a spark appear in her. 

There were times where the heartbroken killer would tuck in the girl while she slept (and sometimes Irina would curse after Villanelle since she was actually awake). Villanelle wished someone had feelings of care for her when she was younger. So she brought herself to care for Konstantin's daughter. But she did not know whether that care was genuine or if it was just all pretence. An act of selflessness maybe. That was something new, wasn't it? An act of selflessness (of some sort) to make up for all the sadness, destruction and pain she had caused in the past.

"You're funny, I'll give you that," said the girl.

"Hmm," said the blonde, "just funny? Not drop-dead-gorgeous, outstandingly intelligent, unexp-"

"God", the 'O' sound lasting for a very long time, as the girl spoke the word, "Don't be so annoying. Please".

"Ohh, is that caring I can detect in your voice?"

"My tone was flat-ass-annoyed, asshole!"

"Yeah, but you were smiling as you said it. You are cute but not smart, honey," the assassin laughed mockingly at the girl. 

"Fuck! What's wrong with you?"

"Hey!" Villanelle's voice an octave more high-pitched than her normal tone, "Language!"

"Fuck you!"

"You care about me, don'tya"

"Caring about you means I have a Stockholm syndrome"

"But at least you care about your dad?"

"Of course," said the girl. Villanelle did not believe her. And rightly so.

She moved towards her room, her face lowered, her eyes at her feet. She opened her door, got in and locked it behind her. 

She let the things on her bed and took the pup in her arms. 

She thought of Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.... Comment to me loves and Gays<3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW AHEAD MENTIONS OF RAPE BUT NOT EXACTLY

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus. We have this client at the office and I am her legal consultant and her name is Oksana. I swear to god it's so hard not to call her Villanelle. The fact that she is over sixty helps a little though. 
> 
> It's completely irrelevant to the fic but guys check out Freud. An original Netflix production. It's a weird thing to watch but I've developed a serious crush on the main female character. She looks exactly like this uni professor I had a crush on and god. she is so hooot.
> 
> I always find 9/11 which is a few hours away so sad and I get very emotional. My condolences if any of you have lost someone you loved at that dark day. 
> 
> Happy 📖

A stranger has come  
To share my room in the house not right in the head,  
A girl mad as birds

Bolting the night of the door with her arm her plume.  
Strait in the mazed bed  
She deludes the heaven-proof house with entering clouds

Yet she deludes with walking the nightmarish room,  
At large as the dead,  
Or rides the imagined oceans of the male wards.

She has come possessed  
Who admits the delusive light through the bouncing wall,  
Possessed by the skies

She sleeps in the narrow trough yet she walks the dust  
Yet raves at her will  
On the madhouse boards worn thin by my walking tears.

And taken by light in her arms at long and dear last  
I may without fail  
Suffer the first vision that set fire to the stars.

-Dylan Thomas, Love in the Asylum.

 ~~Dearest Eve,~~

~~Dearest Eve,~~

Eve,

(Eve, Eve, Eve, like a psalm)

A breath well waisted. A moan as loud as a midsummer night's lightning. A tear so lonely even the moon felt sorry for it. 

A scratch that has been bleeding for too long. A need so raw that it feels no longer human. 

~~My dearest Eve,~~

~~Dearest Eve,~~

~~Eve~~...

No scratch that. No. Who on earth did Villanelle think she was to even consider writing to Eve? What was there to say, anyway? 

I miss you?

I love you?

I need you so much I can barely breathe?

You shine so dazzlingly in me that I have become blind?

No. She could never, under no circumstances, phrase those words. Villanelle was accustomed to people saying phrases like that to her. They were mostly vocalised by one-night lovers. People she would focus on driving mad with desire by night and then forget their entire existence by daylight. She was a womaniser and an amatorculist, that much was obvious. But with Eve, it was different. She could dream of futures for them. She could see how they would be if times were different. If _they_ were different.

Were they to meet during the Nazi occupation in Paris or during the war in Britain, Villanelle could almost taste the atmosphere. She could feel the buzzing of the bombs, the sound resembling the sound of wet canvas being torn down by huge gong mallet with nails sticking out of it. 

Villanelle would most probably be a hired soldier for the Nazis. There is a chance that she would be amazed by their monstrosity. The thing was though, she did not want that monstrosity any longer. She could not act on it. Even the mere thought of anything so ghastly was tearing down her guts. She could feel the blood rushing out of her veins, her eyes seeing no longer and her soul (wherever that was if it existed, she thought) crawling deeper and deeper inside of her.

Still, she could only imagine herself as the Nazi who fell in love with the brave rebel. They would chase each other all over Europe (as the used to do) and would most certainly end up confessing their infatuation to one another in a shady shack somewhere in Thessaly.

It did seem nice, didn’t it? In a sort of twisted and dark and weird and annoying and heartbreaking kind of way. But what can you do?

Villanelle switched off Netflix, leaving the film she was watching in the middle. Charles was sleeping soundly, tucked in the blanket next to her.

“My name does have a double meaning, isn’t that right darling. I am poetic, but I am the Villain”. She really was.

Tears started flowing down her cheeks and she was silently weeping when she heard Konstantin's voice;

"Sometimes, it is better to feel nothing at all than it is to feel like this," his voice was sincere. "Stop being so agelast. I miss the old you. Sometimes. But it is good to be at peace, I guess."

"Oh dear," said Villanelle sarcastically, "Tell me about it. You think I want to be sad all the time?"

"Then stop watching sad films. Stop listening to sad songs and classical music."

"But I like it!" she crossed her arms in front of her, a huge pout forming on her face.

"Then stop liking it! Go out, have some fun! But promise me you'll be quiet if you bring company back here"

"You really think people pay attention here to sex-ed class? Do they even have that in this fucking place? I don’t want to catch anything” she commented.

“It’s not cheating you know”

“I know. It’s just-“

“You do not want to”.

“I really don’t. But maybe it will help”.

“It might. I got married because of a broken heart”. He brought his palms over his mouth, trying to take back the words that had left his mouth.

“Carolyn?” she mocked-laughed.

“Yeah”.

“Hey there!” said Villanelle in an incredibly precise Irish accent. “Have you been stood up?” she asked the tall dark girl across from her.

“Yep. Is it that obvious?” said the girl. She was around twenty, twenty-two, maybe even nineteen.

“Nah. I was just testing my luck. I am glad you are though. It gives me an excuse to talk to you”.

“Why? Out of all those people in here you choose me. Why?”

“They all seem boring. You do not. I feel like I know you. Or like I wanna know you. Do I make any sense?” In reality, the girl seemed more boring than any other person in the room. But that’s why she chose her. She was easy prey.

“Come with me,” said the girl, getting up from her chair, which was seemingly broken and fixed way too many times.

No, no, no, no, no, screamed Villanelle internally. But the only word that left her mouth was;

“Sure!”

“Oh fuck,” the girl breathed out. “No underwear? That’s so fucking hot. You, are so fucking hot.” She ran her fingers through Villanelle’s slick folds. “And so wet for me,” she whispered in Villanelle’s ear, rudely and angrily biting the lobe before flicking her tongue out to lick it.

Villanelle stood stoically there despite the fact that she could feel herself getting wetter and wetter. Whether she liked it or not, her mind continued drifting towards a certain brunette with curly hair. She had to stop.

She felt her back press harder on the knob and she cried out from pain just as the girl entered her with three fingers. The pain on her back and the uncomfortable stretch between her legs was too uncomfortable to ignore, yet she chose to encourage the girl to go harder and deeper.

“More, and harder and deeper!” she demanded and the girl looked at her funnily before entering a fourth finger inside the assassin. She was way too tight to accept the intrusion comfortably (she mostly preferred the company of women anyway) but she did not complain. Even if she wanted to. It felt like she was raping herself.

The girl moved her fingers franticly, exploring Villanelle’s cunt before circling her clit with her palm with newly-found force. With her spare hand, she choked a bit on the assassin’s neck, her teeth dangerously close to biting the alabaster skin of her neck. She gasped.

“You feel so good inside of me, you have no idea,” the blonde lied, her voice husky as she spoke in the stranger’s ear.

“You look perfect. Look at you being fucked hard. I could do this for hours,” the girl lied as well. It was obvious by the way her hand was almost cramping. Villanelle had to reach an orgasm. She had to.

She reached up and unbuttoned her silk shirt, moving the bra aside, exposing her left breasts before brushing a thumb over her nipple.

“Suck my tit,” she demanded and the girl hungrily obliged, her tongue messily circling the tip before enveloping it in her mouth and sucking on it hard.

“Fuck,” cried Villanelle and messily reached orgasm, or she thought she did. It was really mixed with pain and discomfort so she was not sure.

The girl removed her fingers from inside Villanelle and the latter could not help but let out a sigh of relief, but it was misunderstood as a sign of frustration because of the loss of contact. The girl started moving her fingers quickly on her clit and Villanelle yelled,

“Stop. Please, stop” she cried the words, franticly moving backwards to avoid further contact, the handle digging deeper into her back as she cried out again in pure pain.

The girl backed away as well, her knees coming in touch with the toilet seat as she asked Villanelle;

“Can I have your number?”

  
  


Somewhere in Merseyside Eve was coming undone by another girl that looked very much like the assassin. She even screamed her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.... how was it? If you can guess the movie Vil was watching kudos to you. English is not my native tongue you guys!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This doesn’t even count as a chapter but it’s been in my drafts since summer. I promise I’ll update again. Life and uni is a mess right now.

EVE

 _What is she doing? Where is she? Is she alive? Is she well? Does she have as many lovers as she used to have?_ All those questions were flooding her mind as that girl, Billie, was going down on her. She had a skilled little tongue and she bore a close resemblance to the assassin that was in her mind, day and night and night and day. The assassin that she was now thinking while she was being eaten out.

She could not help it. Her mind was drifting towards her. She thought of her eyes and of her lips, of her small but full of mischief smirk, her cheekbones and her jawline, she thought of her nose and of her chest bones, of her tits and of her hands. Her fingers, though, were the centre of her attention as Billie was penetrating her forcefully and fiercely. In and out with a slight curl of her fingertips as she was going in deeper and deeper.

" _I'm not with them when I'm with them._ " The words finally made more sense to her than they did in Rome. She was not with Billie and she was not with Hugo that time either.

At that moment her thoughts were interrupted by the most intense orgasm she'd ever had. She felt her mind leave her body, just momentarily, and a hot wet tongue lap at her folds hungrily, taking her in.

  
"Thank you, for that. I really needed it", eve whispered into the dark. The girl said nothing but remained put between the older woman's thighs. "You you want me to, um, do, um, you too?" That was said only after a beat but what Eve persived as hours or years were simply ten seconds or so and it was vulgar and dirty and cheap. Billie had been nothing but nice to her and that's how Eve repaid her. Vulgarity and stale coldness.

"No. It's okay. Trust me," said the girl, and it would be evident to anyone but Eve that she was looking for a reaction. 

"Alright," said Eve, turning her back to her, hugging her pillow, ready to go to sleep, a silent request for the girl to just "bugger off".

Billie got up, took her wrickled blouse and the rest of her clothes and headed for the door.   
  


Eve didn’t even bother tho get up and lock the door before falling asleep.


End file.
